Like a Red Rose Forever Doesn't Last
by T.S.Orr
Summary: A chance encounter reunits two old friends now turned "enemies" Ryro


John Allerdyce groaned, rolled over onto his side and slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. His head felt as if it were about to explode. He vaguely remembered going out the night before to some cheap bar and getting wasted. He also vaguely remembered the blonde or brunette he brought back to his apartment, and fucked three ways to Sunday. He felt the bed shift before arms snaked around his waist.

"Hmm, morning darling," the voice a little high for his liking cooed into his back; he would have rolled his eyes if his vision wasn't currently swimming. It was also too much of an effort that early in the morning. Or was it the afternoon. He turned his head and squinted at the clock, tried to make his vision focus with a shake of his head, and groaned again as the room swayed. He felt her breasts press against his back and half way sneered before he pulled her arms away from him and stood ever so slowly. He squeezed his eyes shut to regain some visual clarity before he stumbled into the bathroom to rid his bladder of the alcohol of the previous night and to try and sober up.

When he reemerged a few minutes later toweling his face dry and waiting for the pain pills to kick in the woman was still in his bed with his comforter wrapped around her. The worst part is that she didn't seem to have even the slightest inclination of leaving, and she was a brunette. Damn.

"You're still here" it wasn't a question, but rather a statement. Her eyebrows drew together in confusion before she blinked rapidly.

"Well, I though you'd like for me to stay a little longer. Maybe have a repeat performance of last night?" Her tone of voice was hopeful. He raised an eyebrow and even that seemed to hurt him.

"You thought wrong. Get your shit and get out," he didn't wait for her to respond as he made his way into the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. He pulled out the jug of milk, uncapped it, and raised it to his lips. The smell that hit his nose was like a punch from Colossus; it made him quickly withdraw it from the vicinity of his face and try not to vomit. He checked the expiration date. June 21. He calculated the math in his head, gave a disgusted look, and made his way over to the sink. He turned the hot water on full blast, turned the jug bottom side up and nearly gagged as chunks of three month old milk broke apart and went down the drain.

"Will you at least call?" again that hopeful tone. He grit his teeth in an effort to keep from strangling the woman.

"No. Bye," his tone was as cold as ice. It was all she needed to know and she quickly made her way to the door of the apartment.

"You're an asshole!" the door slammed. The pain in his head began to ebb and his vision no longer seemed to be on an oceanic tide. He turned off the water, tossed the empty container into the garbage can, and went to take a shower. He had to go grocery shopping because he'd be damned if he trusted anything else in that fridge. Three fucking months. Ugh.

* * *

He sighed contentedly as he stood under the spray of hot water and let the soap be rinsed off his body. He was sobering up and that wasn't necessarily a good thing, because he knew he'd start over analyzing the girl he'd brought home last night. It was always a brunette these days. Ever since he'd met her. He wanted her, craved her. He could never have her though; she belonged to Drake. His old best friend now turned worst enemy. He chuckled running a finger over the scar that that frozen cunt had left on him when he'd head butted him at Alcatraz. That damn popsicle had thrown him for a loop and given him a concussion to boot.

The damn fool was too much of a pussy to even dream of touching his girlfriend, even _after _she'd gotten the cure. How pathetic could he get? Rogue practically threw herself at Bobby ever chance she got and still nothing. Drake just didn't know how to handle who and what she was. He on the other hand, would've had her begging for more. Begging him to fuck her just the way she wanted. He stopped that thought process before it went too far and he found himself in another bar slumming amongst the humans trying to find someone who could pass looking like her for a couple of alcohol induced hours. He turned off the water and grabbed a towel off of the towel rack. He toweled his hair dry before toweling the water from his body. He always found it amusing how people didn't realize that his hair was actually blonde. Maybe because he usually kept it gelled back so that It appeared wet and darker.

His stomach growled at that moment reminding him that he had some shopping to do before he starved to death. He got dressed quickly not bothering to style his hair in its usual spiked manner but instead let it flop for once. He needed a hair cut. That was another thing he'd have to do soon before it started to get into his eyes worse than it already was. He shoved his wallet into his front pocket, grabbed his shark Zippo, and his keys before heading out the door locking it behind him. The heavy door clicked shut and he was down the hall taking the steps of the stairs two at a time. He pushed the bar on the heavy metal door and flung it open breathing in the afternoon air.

* * *

He walked down the aisle of the grocery store slowly and surveyed each item carefully. He'd gotten the milk that he needed and the cereal for the mornings or afternoons rather when he didn't feel like making breakfast. Now he was in the frozen foods section trying to decide if he wanted Uncle Ben's or Red Byron's. He weighed the boxes in his hand before he dumped both in and added two more of each for extra measure. He pulled out his lighter opening and closing the lid like he always did when he was bored and was just about to walk off down the aisle for the frozen pastries section when he heard an oh so familiar Southern drawl from behind him.

"John?"


End file.
